Chant of Darkness: the Second Verse
by dominicgrim
Summary: I return to the world of my first fan fic. The world of the Chant of Darkness continues as the Inquisition rages. Of course, I do not own Dragon Age, I just play here. Rated teen for violence language, and adult situations. Bethany H. plus OC
1. Mission Accomplished

A/N: Hello everyone! Back in 2012, my first story _Chant of Darkness_ got me started on fanfiction. It was my first test, and I was proud to say I finished it. Now, with Inquisition ending, I've found myself asking what happened next to these characters. Here is my answer; I hope you all enjoy it!

DG

 **Chant of Darkness: Second Verse**

 **Chapter 1: Mission Accomplished**

" **TO THE CHANTRY!"**

Dozens of voices and mugs rose to answer the toast. Some might even have meant it; it was hard to say after so many mugs of cheap ale.

The man slumped down in his seat. For the fourth time this evening he had toasted the Chantry, which was perhaps a little ironic because for so very long he had desired nothing but its destruction, to hear the mothers weeping in despair, to hear how their Templars had abandoned them, to sit and laugh as that nest of hypocrites were exposed for the liars and charlatans that they were…

Now he had gotten his wish.

Now it was all over.

The Chantry had fallen, through no action of his, which was unfortunate, but at last…the Chantry had fallen.

His mother had been avenged.

He was free.

 _ **FREE!**_

 _And yet now…now…_

The man frowned into his ale, as horrible as it was; at least it did the trick.

He glared at his distorted reflection, and felt…nothing.

 _He was free, but now…now…_

He took a large gulp of the foul brew; it burned its way down his throat, and slopped down his dirty beard, his soiled coat and shirt.

He slammed the mug down hard.

 _He was free, but now… now…_

He belched loudly.

 _What now?_

His forehead struck the table; he knew he could not remain this way long. If he did, he would likely find himself dumped out in the street again. The last time that had happened, some lowlife bastard had made off with his coat, his good coat.

His bloodshot blue eyes narrowed.

He wished he could find the will to care.

He had been on the island of Estwatch for the past three months, one month before getting word of the destruction at the Conclave. The pirate enclave here was the one of the best places for raider recruitment outside of the docks of Llomerryn. He had returned here to try and rebuild his contacts, to form a new crew, find a ship, and start his life again.

That plan had not worked out, not surprising considering everything that had happened.

Now…the Chantry had fallen, and with it…his purpose.

The man groaned, trying to keep his stomach from turning over.

Blood and spite help him; he would not vomit all over himself again, not if he could help it.

After everything else, that would be…the final insult.

He leaned back, hoping that his stomach would calm, all around him the raiders and assassins that frequented, the Broken Bootstrap went about their business. Murder, theft and mayhem were being planned even as he chose to drown himself in cheap ale, but for some reason, it had no appeal anymore.

He snorted at the sight, wretches all, oh how he hated them.

He picked up the bottle from the table and refilled his mug.

A cruel sneer split his features.

Such hatred called for another drink.

He leaned forward again, once again catching his reflection in the foul smelling brew.

He frowned.

The face looking back at him was a stranger.

Dirty black hair, scraggly beard, bloodshot eyes, and dirty clothes, all these described the miscreant staring back at him. He barely recognized himself, he barely recognized the man he had become.

He had not always been like this. He had been respected once. A man with a future, a mage with powerful magic, a fair ship, and a strong crew, he had even made captain, and once his revenge was complete the seas of Thedas would have been his playground.

He snarled.

That was before he had struck his deal with the so called Witch King.

That was before the Grey Wardens of the Lost Garrison.

That was before his best friend Justin Oslin, him and his circle pet of a whore!

The whore he could forgive, but not Justin…not the Captain.

His friend…and his betrayer!

 **May he rot in the dark pit of the void!**

He almost flung his mug across the room, but since it would be a waste of perfectly bad alcohol, he held his temper in check.

He downed the booze, and slumped back down onto the table in defeat.

It was better this, than the alternative.

He tried to take a deep breath.

All Justin had to do was let him go. All he had to do was let him take his revenge, but he hadn't done that had he…no.

No, it was far too easy to destroy his best friend's life.

What did he have now?

No ship.

No woman.

No crew.

No revenge.

And…what was worse!

The man rubbed his right knee or rather the stump that had once been his knee.

He almost sobbed.

 _It wasn't enough that Justin had betrayed him._

 _He had left him a cripple too!_

The captain had done this to him, him and his circle pet!

He had taken everything, and left his old friend with nothing!

 _Nothing!_

He had even run him through, tried to take his life, it was only through, magic and blind luck that the mage had survived his fall into the rocky shore along the coast of the dragon bone wastes.

The mage sighed.

He should have died that day.

Perhaps, it would have been better if he had.

An elven serving girl approached his table.

"An…another bottle, Serah?" she stammered.

He growled, the girl was a tit mouse, a slave here who was little better than a whore.

He glared at her and threw another coin down on the table.

She scooped it up and scurried back to the bar, likely grateful that she had escaped his wrath, soon she would return with his ale.

He sneered.

Either that or he would burn her alive.

She had seen his bad side once already, seen him start to change, and with no Templars here on Estwatch…

A mage could do what he liked.

He sneered at that.

It was not much, not considering the power he had once wielded, but it was enough.

It had to be.

He frowned again.

He had spent the last few months trying to contact the Witch King. It was surprising that his old patron had not made a single move since the Chantry's destruction. The man had been so eager to see Thedas destroyed, destroyed and remade in his image.

Yet… he had heard…nothing.

There were rumors though, unsubstantiated rumors that said the Witch King was dead. That he had challenged the Hero of Ferelden and had lost. For so long the Witch King had been…obsessed with Solona Amell, the warden mage had been his main focus, the subject of all his ire for almost ten years.

If he was dead, it was a fair bet that the woman had killed him, and if he was dead.

Where did that leave those that had enjoyed his patronage?

The drunkard could not be sure.

A shadow fell across his table, not the mousey little waitress, but someone else, someone larger.

The mage looked up.

"Go away," he growled.

The man did not move.

His blue eyes narrowed, arcane fire began to glow in his fist.

He staggered upright, using the table for balance.

"I said…"

The man did not let him finish.

He struck the mage with one large meaty fist.

Blood sprayed from the mage's nose as he flew against the far wall, stars exploded before his eyes.

Two equally large fellows seized him by the arms, the mage tried to struggle, but it did little good.

He was too drunk, and still stunned by the other man's strike.

The three toughs dragged him out of the Broken Bootstrap. To his credit, the mage did not even cry out.

There was really no point.

It wasn't like anyone would lift a finger to help him.

In Estwatch, you looked out for yourself, or you died in the gutter.

The mage chuckled.

It seemed he was on his way to the gutter.

How lovely.

He shook his head as the dragged him out into the night.

Whatever they were going to do, he hoped it would end…quickly.

IOI

They pulled him down the street, passed the whores and their customers, they pulled him passed the docks where the ships sat at harbor and men too old or too young to raid unloaded the booty.

The mage said nothing, it wasn't like he was surprised his life was about to end, it had been a long time coming after all.

Besides, what did it matter now?

The Chantry had fallen.

His grand work was done.

They dragged him out beyond the port and onto the beach, the one time he tried to speak; one of the tough's kneed him in the gut. The mage vomited in the sand, but that did not slow his captors. He could hear their angry snarling and prodding. They did not look familiar, but that was not surprising.

There were no shortage of angry men in such places, men more than willing to take out their own anger for a bit of coin.

Tonight, he was apparently their whipping boy.

He tried to work up the will to care.

He saw torches up ahead, a small gathering on the beach.

It was there that he was being brought.

The mage tried to smile.

It would be there that he would meet his captors.

It would be there, that he would meet his fate.

The toughs flung him down on the sand, hard. The mage spit and tried to sit up.

One of those that had dragged him out here kicked in the side, when he slumped over the man flung his staff down on top of him, hard enough to make something crack inside his chest.

The mage groaned and tried to take it into his hands. A hard boot caught him across the face.

The staff went flying.

He started to curse the one who struck him when he felt cold steel at his throat.

He froze.

The cutlass blade was sharp enough to draw blood.

He closed his eyes and waited.

If this was it, then good.

He had grown tired of waiting.

He heard a cold chuckle above him, a sound both cold and merciless.

"'Ello Birdie, been a long time."

The mage blinked, his bloodshot eyes focused on the person standing over him.

He was surprised to say the least.

His would be murderer was short, even for one of her kind, a thin scrap of an elf in a dirty long coat and a wide brimmed hat. Dark dirty brown hair hid most of her features; even from here he could smell seawater and oil.

He probably should have been afraid but he wasn't.

He knew what she was capable, this elven pirate.

After all, they had been shipmates once.

He chuckled.

"Little Nan," he purred, "What an unpleasant surprise."

The elf's ear's lowered slightly, her dark eyes flashed with barely contained rage.

"That is kinda funny coming from you, Birdie," she replied, "Especially since I now hold your fucking life in my hands."

The mage snorted with amusement.

"I guess you didn't track me down then just to say hello?"

She leaned down; her blade dug into his neck, not enough to kill, but plenty enough to draw blood.

He tried to lean away, but it was no use.

If Little Nan wanted him dead, he would be.

That was just the way the elven pirate was.

She glared coldly at him.

"How the mighty have fallen, Eh? The mighty Andreas "Birdie" Wren, Captain of the Rebel Queen, betrayer of his own shipmates, now just a crippled drunkard laying on the beach, waiting for your throat to be cut."

She gave him her most wicked smile.

"There is justice in that I think, especially after what you pulled."

Wren snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I don't go by "Birdie" anymore," he spat, "and as for the Queen, talk to the Grey Wardens, they were the ones who sank her."

The elf forced her blade tighter against his throat.

"Yeah," she snarled, "And all because of your bungling."

Around him, several of the men nodded their ascent. Likely members of his old crew, but he could not say for certain.

Justin had always been the people person when it came to dealing with the men. Wren had always preferred the abstract.

He sighed.

Maybe that was why he had disbanded their old crew in the first place. So, that he wouldn't have to explain why he needed to do what he did.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Nan had him where she wanted him.

He could have tried to fight, but what would be the point.

It was all over for him anyway.

Nan leaned in close; he could smell the scent of old leather and the sea. The elf had never cared much about her appearance, probably why she had survived as long as she had.

She gave him her coldest smile.

"Capt. Oslin is not here to protect you anymore, Birdie," she spat, "Your old shipmates have waited a long time for this."

She sneered down at him.

"It is just as shame that you are such a wreck. It would have been nice to have killed you in your prime. Now…it just seems like we are doing you a favor."

Wren chuckled.

The elf had no idea.

"Go ahead then," he growled, "Take your precious justice."

He glared hatefully at her.

"I'm tired of looking at that stupid looking hat of yours anyway."

The elf sneered.

"If that is the way you want it, Birdie, then fine."

She stood up raising her blade over her head.

"So long Andreas Wren, give the demons our regards."

The mage chuckled.

The woman thought this an execution. She had no real idea.

This wasn't punishment, it was release.

And Andreas Wren, the Son of Flemeth, welcomed such an end.

He closed his eyes, awaiting the blade.

I'm ready, he thought.

Time to go home.

 **A/N: Is this the end of Birdie? Will the pirates have their revenge? And what of the Lost Garrison, what have they been up to while the Inquisition rages. If you want to hear more, shoot me a review.**

 **Until next time dear readers.**

 **DG**


	2. Friends and Enemies

**Chapter 2: Friends and Enemies**

Wren awaited the final blow.

He exposed his neck and waited, in a way…it made sense that his end should come at the hands of his former shipmates. They had accepted him once, and then…he had betrayed them.

They deserved their revenge, almost as much as he had deserved his on the chantry, now it was over.

Now it was time to pay his debts.

He could almost feel the bite of Little Nan's blade; it was not the end he would have pictured for himself, but…but…

The healer frowned slightly.

He felt it.

It was not the cold steel of Nan's blade it was something else.

He began to laugh.

That gave his old shipmates pause. What reason did he have to laugh? What possibly could be so amusing about what was about to happen?

Nan lowered her blade.

"What is so bloody funny?" she demanded.

Wren just chortled.

He smirked at her.

It seems that might time is not up quite yet, Nanny," he snickered, "I would say you have something else to worry about now."

The elf's eyes narrowed, her lips began to move likely to spit some new obscenity his way.

She never got the chance.

It was a dark night tonight, no moon, and the torches did little to push back the inky darkness.

That was how the demons got so close.

That was how they managed to fall on the survivors of the Rebel Queen.

Shades, their skin as black as midnight fell upon the pirates at the edge of the group, their claws ripping into flesh and shattering bone.

Wraith's slithered into position on the rocks above, the creatures fired down on the pirates, balls of glowing green flame burned flesh, and sent raiders scrambling.

Little Nan barked orders trying to rally what was left of their old crew. Raiders were used to fighting merchant men, Orlesians and each other…

Against demons…they were no match.

Wren lay in the sand and watched the fun. As a mage he should have been terrified, but he had learned something long ago about the denizens of the fade.

They tended to keep their distance from him; none might even have tried approaching the little gathering tonight if they had not been driven mad by their journey here.

The healer smiled.

He had heard about the fade rift on the other side of the island, the small tear in the veil that had been belching out demons since the destruction of the Divine's Conclave.

So far only one rift had opened on Estwatch, if that changed the pirates who lived here would likely need to find a new spot to make port. The merchants and Captains who ran this place had gone to every mage here, trying to find someone who could close that rift.

So far, no one had succeeded. There were rumors about someone in the south who could do it, but those were just rumors.

The demons were here now.

And Wren's old crew was about to learn exactly what that meant.

The smart ones threw away their torches and ran. They would likely live to see another day. The few that did try and fight back did not last very long against demonic claws. Shades weren't really strong, but if you got enough of them together, it was only a matter of time.

Nan snarled in fury, using her cutlass to block one of the demon's attacks. She cut off one of its clawed hands and whirled just in time to run another of the monsters through. The shade crumbled into dust but that small victory had not saved the elf yet.

A pained howl rang out from behind them, as the palms and scrub brushes there burst into flames.

Wren's eyes widened.

A rage demon slithered out of the dark, glowing like molten metal, and spitting with barely controlled fury. No doubt drawn by the elf's anger.

Despite his depression, the healer almost giggled.

Now they were going to see some real fun!

Nan twirled her blade before the flaming horror. The demon spat smoldering bile at her but the elf back pedaled avoiding the worst of the barrage.

By now most Nan's allies were either dead or had run off. Wren could have helped, but he saw no real reason to…

Once the demons had had their fun they would no doubt slither their way back towards town, the more heavily armored toughs that the merchants here hired would have a better chance of dealing with the creatures, not to mention whatever mages who were staying in port tonight.

Nan, in between dodging the rage demon's claws looked at Wren.

He lay smirking in the sand, even as the shades went out of their way to avoid him.

The elven pirate cursed.

"Screw you Birdie," she spat angrily.

The healer only chuckled.

"Rage demons' love the taste of anger, Nan," he called out to her, "To him…you are just a delicate little appetizer before he turns his attention towards town."

Wren shook his head.

"It seems I won't be dying tonight after all, shipmate," he crawled over to his staff, it wasn't the best crutch in the world, but least he would be able to hobble his way back to tavern, once the demons were dealt with of course.

It might take a while he realized, no doubt more than a few of the town's defenders would die in the attempt. Of course, there were more raiders in Estwatch then demons, at least for the moment.

In the end, the mortals would win by pure force of arms.

That did not bother him all that much; fewer raiders meant more booze to go around.

He was more than willing to drink up their share as well as his own.

After this Estwatch would be quiet again, at least for a while, at least until enough demons came through the rift to threaten the town again. He would likely have moved on before the next attack came.

Estwatch had turned out to be a bust. Perhaps he would try Llomerryn next.

He had always kinda liked Llomerryn.

For now he decided to simply lean back and watch the show. The shades had just finished with those that hadn't run away…

Now they moved towards Nan, eager to take a piece of the elf while there was still some to be had.

The elf held her cutlass in one hand, a dagger in the other.

If she was going to fall, she would damn well go down fighting.

Wren respected that, it was a futile gesture, but he still respected it.

Nan always had been too brave for own good.

Now…she was about to pay for it.

The rage demon took a swipe at her; she rolled underneath his claws and raked the beast across the side with her dagger.

Fire and burning blood oozed from the wound, even Nan pulled back her dagger, found that the blade was now melting away.

Wren chuckled.

That was what you get trying to use cheap Estwatch steel against true demonic enemies.

The rage demon breathed fire, forcing the elf to retreat, she cried out as a shade who had circled around behind her slashed her across the shoulder blades.

To Nan's credit, she did not fall; she merely snarled and whirled on the demon slashing it across the face.

The creature spun back, shrieking in pain from its wound. It had not been enough to kill it, but it was definitely enough to piss it off.

Again the shade came for her, its long black talons reaching out for the elf's brine soaked flesh. Even as the rage demon lunged, eager to make a cooked meal out of her.

It should have ended right there. Nan should have been dead, and Wren would be free to return to his drinking.

Yet, it was not the end.

The night had at least a few surprises left for Wren and Nan.

A jet of freezing cold blasted the rage demon, driving the burning horror back. The shade, too eager to claim its share of the kill barely reacted when a heavily armored warrior leapt up behind it and drove her blade deep into the creature's back.

The shade crumbled away, likely before it even knew that it had fallen.

The rage demon tried to breathe fire on the newcomer, who brought up her shield just in time.

A jet of flame struck the shield, but did not melt it; cold runes woven into the metal protected the warrior from harm. As the flame jet ceased, the warrior charged forward, bashing the rage demon in its beak-like super-heated face.

For a moment, Little Nan just stood there, awe struck, not sure what to do.

The warrior, still standing between the demon and its prey was more than happy to give her direction.

"Get behind me," she ordered, "and stay close. The fire is about to start coming down."

Wren blinked.

Fire? What fire, and who was this warrior helping Nan?

He never got a chance to ask that question.

Fire rained down from the sky, not fel fire from the fade rift, but angry orange fire, conjured up by magic…

Wren frowned.

…Circle trained magic.

His fingers curled into angry fists.

Her, he thought coldly.

Why did it have to be her?

He reached out with his senses, seeking a fellow mage. What he felt was…familiar to say the least. He had travelled with few other mages in his time, so he had no problem recognizing this one.

He shook his head.

Why did it have to be her?

And what in the world was she doing here?

The fireballs took care of the remaining shades. As for the rage demon, it was no match for both Nan and the warrior. From her safe place in the distance, the mage had cast an enchantment over the two fighters' weapons, giving them the power of the cold.

Against that, the rage demon was no match.

The fire went out, and it too crumbled into dust, joining its fellow demons in whatever nightmares demons go to when they die.

The beach fell silent, only the crackling of burning bodies and the lapping of the sea remained.

Wren began to cast, he might have been drunk, but his powers had not abandoned him, one quick illusion and he would be able to…

WHACK!

The healer went down like a sack of potatoes.

He tried to regain his staff, but a jolt of powerful magic sent it flying away.

Wren slumped in the sand, and sighed.

Force magic, he realized.

He shook his head.

If he had any doubt which mage was here, they faded away in that moment.

He snorted and cried out.

"Came up here to kill me yourself, Circle Pet?"

No answer came. Yet, he did find himself trapped in a stasis field, yet another spell taught to all the good little circle boys and girls.

It was only then that Nan's magical rescuer showed herself.

Wren shook his head.

She had waited until he was neutralized before coming out.

So, she was still a coward.

Why was he not surprised?

IOI

Little Nan blinked, still trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened.

She had been looking death in the face, now…now…these strangers had come.

What they wanted she could not say, but one thing was certain.

They had saved her life.

That did count for something, even in a place as rough as Estwatch.

At least she could do, was find out who they were.

Then she could get back to her business.

She sheathed her sword. She turned to find Wren once again almost face down in the sand. A strange glow surrounded him, likely some sort of magic to hold him in place.

More magic, she thought, personally she had never trusted the stuff herself, to unpredictable, to impossible for her tastes.

She glared out from beneath her hat and dirty bangs.

Her dark eyes narrowing.

"Now just who the fuck are you?" she demanded.

The warrior glared at her. Clearly she was not used to people talking back to her.

She removed her helmet.

Nan's eyes narrowed.

It was clear that the warrior standing before her was no pirate. She carried herself more like a guard then one of the raiders here. Pale skin, ginger hair, pulled back and held in place by a braided headband."

The warrior woman glared at her.

"A thank you might have been nice," she said flatly, "But considering where we are, I should not be surprised."

The mage stepped forward. She was pretty in her way, long dark hair, pale skin, and eyes the color of warm honey. Unlike her companion, there was compassion in those eyes. They were the eyes of someone willing to look past the dirt, brine, and ratty clothes and see the woman underneath.

Little Nan frowned.

Such a person was not a common sight here in Estwatch.

She gave her friend a slight smile.

"Now Aveline," she began, "Let's not be rude."

She turned to the elf and gave her a slight bow.

"I take it you are the one they call Little Nan?"

The elf snorted.

"Maybe," she replied, "What of it?"

The mage's smile widened.

"My husband told me you might be a little…stand offish, at first, but he also said I could trust you."

The mage looked down on Andreas Wren, who was still glaring coldly at her.

She gave him a slight wave.

"Since you are clearly no fan of Birdie's" she continued, "I'm hoping that you might still be able to help me, for friendship's sake at least."

Nan snorted.

"Well you clearly know Birdie," the elf said, "But that does not mean that we should be friends."

The elf crossed her hand over her chest.

"Just who are you two?"

"Of course," the mage said, "How rude of my, allow me to introduce ourselves, my friend in the armor is Aveline Hendyr, former Viscountess of Kirkwall."

That opened Nan's eyes.

A noble? Here?

"A pleasure," the warrior woman said, never letting her hand drift from the hilt of her blade.

"I," the mage continued, "Am called Bethany; I know your former Captain, Justin Oslin."

Nan pursed her lips.

"And just who are you to the Cap'n?" she demanded.

"And old friend," the mage replied, "And his wife, and mother to his son."

Bethany Hawke-Oslin smiled.

"In his name, I hope that we can get your help."

The elf's ears lowered slightly.

 _A noble and her old captain's wench?_

Nan shook her head.

What have you gotten me into this time Cap'n, she thought?

And why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret it.


	3. Lady Oslin

**Chapter 23: Lady Oslin**

 _Loss._

It was something that Bethany knew very well, her father before the Blight; her brother during the flight from Lothering, and finally her freedom when she surrendered herself to the Circle in Kirkwall.

Bethany Oslin pursed her lips.

In the Circle, she was supposed to have been safe, protected not only from herself but from the outside world as well. That of course did not work out so well. Her Master was slain by the Qunari. One of her best friends was made tranquil, and the other had killed himself, not wishing to be a part of the Circle any longer.

Her Mother had tried to keep her spirits up, to let her know she had not been forgotten by her loved ones. Then…Mother had died, murdered by a mage, a friend of the First Enchanter, Orsino had worn to protect them, and yet in the end even he gave into despair, and tried to kill them all.

After that, Bethany had fled Kirkwall, fled all the way back home to her native Ferelden. She should have been safe there, but again she was wrong.

The past was an able predator, and it did not like it when someone tried to escape. Gaston Delance, the interim Knight-Commander of Kirkwall attempted to capture her, hoping to use her to further his own mad dreams. In the end, she was saved; the Grey Wardens of the Lost Garrison came for her. They protected her, shielded her, and eventually ended the threat Delance posed, not just to her, but to all of Thedas as well.

But there were always **more** predators. She knew that well. She was walking beside one now. Andreas Wren might have become a wreck in the last few years, but she had never forgotten what he was, what he truly was.

She had never forgotten who he was, and what he had and could become.

"Keeping moving," Aveline growled, giving him a slight push. The healer almost lost his footing, he hissed at her.

"If you are just going to kill me," he snarled, "then just do it already!"

Behind them Nan chuckled.

"I don't think you're going to get off that easy this time Birdie," she said, "If the captain sent these two…"

Wren chuckled at that.

"You don't know them, Nanny goat," he sneered, "The Circle Pet is only dangerous if she is threatened, and…"

Aveline cuffed him upside the head, nearly sending him sprawling.

"I would not be concerned about her, if I were you," the former Viscountess warned, "I take care of my friends, Ser Mage…"

Aveline's eyes narrowed.

"And I don't like people who try to hurt them."

Wren laughed fatalistically at that.

"Hurt her?" he barked, "HURT. THEM. Take a good long look at my leg, woman. Your friend here did that. She did this to me?!"

Bethany glared at him.

"And what did you do Wren?" she growled back, "You betrayed your friends. You BETRAYED Justin!"

The mage shook her head.

"Perhaps you should count yourself lucky you only lost a leg."

Wren might have been about to respond when Aveline grabbed him by the collar, and forced him to hobble faster. He growled and spat under his breath but still did nothing.

Bethany pursed her lips.

She tried not to feel the least amount of pity for the man, after what he had pulled, pity was the last thing he deserved.

Aveline gripped by the scruff of his neck, almost dragging him back towards town. Behind them walked the elf that called herself Little Nan, Bethany was still not sure what to make of her. Justin had told her that if she ever needed someone she could trust, that he had trusted…then she should seek the elf out.

The mage frowned.

 _Of course, Justin had trusted Wren once too…_

… _That…that had not worked out so well._

The healer gave her a surly look as he limped along using his staff for a crutch.

Her brown eyes narrowed.

"What?" she demanded.

He sneered at her.

"What's the matter Circle Pet," he spat, "Don't you like your handy work?

Bethany paused, when she had wounded Wren all those months ago, she had not imagined that she would see him again, much less in such a state. She could not deny the sense of surprise she had felt seeing Andreas Wren alive for the first time. They had all thought him dead; she had been there when he fell from the top of that tower in the Dragonbone Wastes.

Perhaps…perhaps she had even wished him dead.

She did not have the fondness for the man her husband did. In her eyes, it would have been better had Wren died on that tower.

Such a fall would have killed anyone else, but perhaps she should not have been surprised.

Wren was the son of the Witch of the Wilds. If a scion of Flemeth's bloodline could not survive such a fall, then he was likely not part of the witch's powerful family.

She shook her head.

 _Why did only the innocent stay dead these days?_

"The Captain sent you?"

She glanced back at Little Nan; she was not much different than what her husband had described. He called her a rough, scrap of an elf, who might be tempted to bite the fingers off some wealthy Orlesian noble, just to get at their rings, but he had also said that the girl had an intense sense of honor and loyalty to her old shipmates. It had been Justin himself that had recruited her onto his crew years ago.

Hopefully, his faith was not misplaced.

"Justin is currently…away," she informed the elf, "He left on warden business, and no less than a week later our home was attacked."

The mage shook her head.

"I don't know where he is now," she confessed, "But…I intend to find out."

Nan nodded, whether out of understanding or loyalty, Bethany could not say. Wren fell silent again, trying not to trip over the loose sand.

Slowly the buildings of Estwatch came into view; pirates walked the perimeter, dealing with any surviving demons that had not managed to make their way into the town.

According to Justin, the pirates of Estwatch were some of the most stubborn people in all of Thedas, fierce and independent…

Much like her husband…the man she missed so very much.

The mage sighed.

Justin, she thought.

I'm not giving up.

After their victory in the Dragonbone Wastes, she had tried to settle down. She had fallen in love with their leader. Justin, her husband, and Commander of the Grey of the Lost Garrison, had offered her a chance at a life she had never dreamed possible. A chance to have a home, to have a family

It was not something she could easily pass up.

Perhaps there had always been love there, she thought, Justin had grown up in Lothering after all, he had been her brother, Carver's, best friend.

Had Justin not left, the two of them might have married years ago. At least the Maker had given her that much. He had brought her old sweetie, back to her, and now, she would never let him go.

As the months passed, she had come to see the wardens under her husband's command as a surrogate family. Serene, Faizyl, Leonie, even Merrill had become very dear to her. The arrival of new recruits added to their world. Bevin, Toby, Wolfe, Treasure, Matteo, Constance, they were all part of her new world.

In time, the Maker gave her yet another reason to be happy. When she had discovered that she was with child Justin had been beside himself. Wardens rarely were able to have children, and given what he had endured in the Dragonbone Wastes, it should not have been possible, but it was.

Nine months later, Bethany had given birth to a happy healthy baby boy. It seemed that all was right with the world. The Grey Wardens had isolated her from the growing chaos beyond their base in Soldier's Peak, but then…that isolation had ended.

The Mage rebellion began, and with it, her family in the Lost Garrison had been called away, leaving her to fend for herself.

She had lost her family…again…

And…she was not happy about it.

She was still not sure who had attacked Soldier's Peak. The place had been a sanctuary for grey wardens since the end of the last Blight. The Dryden family had kept it in stewardship, until the Lost Garrison had returned to reclaim it.

After all, it had been Sophia Dryden's betrayal all those centuries ago that had caused the wardens to be banished from Ferelden in the first place. The few wardens who had survived that betrayal fled back to Weisshaupt and intent on seeking their fellows' forgiveness, and the chance to continue their duty…

The first warden had granted them that forgiveness, but from that point on they would have no garrison to call their own, no country either.

And so…the Lost Garrison had been born.

The Lost Garrison had become to the wardens what the Seekers of Truth had been to the chantry. They policed the warden garrisons, and made sure that no betrayal crept into the ranks.

It was for that reason that Justin had taken the others into Orlais. Warden Commander Clarel and sent word that she had discovered an enclave of Exaltednist Templars operating inside the Empire. The Exaltednists, being enemies of the Lost Garrison had been all be destroyed following the battle of the Dragonbone Wastes, that they were gathering again was something that Justin and the others could not allow.

So they had left, to rendezvous with Clarel and find out more about their old enemies. Justin had promised to write to her when he could, but no letters came and now…after the attack…

Bethany sighed.

They could be all dead, she thought, but…

No…

Her eyes narrowed.

No!

She would not even think that.

The Lost Garrison was some of the finest fighters in the order.

She would not believe them all slain so easily, but still…where were they. She had tried to reach the Warden Commander of Orlais, but even she had fallen silent.

Now…there home was gone, and she was on the run again.

Bethany frowned.

She intended to make someone answer for that, but first she needed answers.

Now she needed to find the right people to ask.

Justin and the others had served the order loyally these past few years, but now…something had changed. Justin had not known what it was, but it was there, he was sure of it.

Perhaps that was why someone had attacked Soldier's Peak. The path leading to the fortress was a closely guarded secret, kept by both the Dryden family, and the order itself…

Bethany frowned.

No Dryden would betray the wardens, but that would mean that the order itself had been behind the attack on the Lost Garrison's base, but…but that made no sense!

The mage shook her head.

There was no reason why wardens would attack each other. It made no sense.

There had to be something more going on, she thought.

There had to be.

She took a deep breath and hurried to catch up with the others.

There would be time to ask questions later, for now…

She had to focus on what came next.

She looked over at Wren again, the dirty drunken wretch before her was a far cry from the arrogant mage she had met almost three years ago.

He glanced her way with cold bloodshot eyes.

"What are you even doing here?" he demanded.

"I came in search of aid," she replied.

Again, Wren chuckled morosely.

"Running away, again?" he snorted.

Bethany's eyes narrowed. She almost struck him with her staff; the only thing that stopped her was the fact that he wasn't wrong. Her whole life she had been running, from the Templars, from her fear of magic, from Kirkwall's Right of Annulment…

She had always run, and never looked back. She had run away from her family, her sister, and now…her husband had disappeared, and with him her new family.

Bethany frowned.

She could not, and would not allow that to stand.

She pursed her lips.

She would not run away this time. Aveline wanted to take her to safety, but where was that, when the world was about to end?

The mage shook her head.

No, not this time, she thought.

She could not shake the feeling that her friends were in danger that Justin was in danger.

She could not let that stand.

I will do what needs to be done she thought, straightening her back.

She did what she could to will away that old fear and doubt. She sealed it away, wrapped it in iron and welded it shut, stuffing it back in the farthest part of her mind.

She…she would not flee this time.

Bethany squared her shoulders.

She would run…

…no more.


	4. Reaper

**Chapter 4: Reaper**

Haven.

Once, it was a place of secrets, the final resting place of Andraste's sacred ashes.

Once it was the home of a great evil, dragon cultists who sought to destroy what their ancestors had built, who sought to replace the Andrastian faith with their own.

Haven, a place reclaimed by the chantry, liberated from the cultist by Warden Solona Amell and her allies, a place of hope, a place that gave Ferelden a fighting chance during the fifth Blight.

Haven, a place devastated by the opening of the breach, the destruction of the temple of sacred ashes, and the murder of Divine Justinia V.

Haven, the village where hope sprang anew, where the faithful gathered to not only pray, but try to push back the darkness…

…Haven…the new home of the Inquisition reborn.

It was to this place that both recruits and pilgrims flocked, men and women eager to try and save their world. The Herald of Andraste gave them hope, now they strived to turn that hope into action.

The little village was a buzz with activity, soldiers, artisans, and merchants did what they could to provide for the fledgling movement, to ready the faithful for war.

Into this place walked a single figure, his black armor and weapons identified him as a member of the Seekers of Truth, but few of their order had ever seen him. He had been named a Seeker by Divine Justinia herself, even Lord Seeker Lambert had been able to deny him that title.

Those who had lived in Haven these last ten years smiled as he passed by, some even remembered him from his sporadic visits over the last three years.

To them he was not just a soldier, he was a justification of their faith, not in the same class as the Herald of Andraste, but still a true symbol, a warrior of the Maker's will and love.

To others, he was an enigma. One of the returning patrols had seen him engage several Templars and the mages trying to attack them. Both sides had tried to slay him on sight, but the warrior was not so easily beaten. He raised his hand and made a fist.

The combatants fell to their knees screaming in pain, after that, it had been easy for man in black to finish them. The scouts had just stood by as the warrior ended them all.

After that the scouts gave the warrior a wide berth, and advised everyone else to do the same.

Such power was not to be opposed lightly.

His black cloak, marked with Andraste's holy symbol, swirled around him as he made his way through the snow, several soldiers and scouts paused as he passed by, a few, who had been close to Justinia, bowed their head and saluted the young man.

He nodded, but said nothing. He was not here for conversation.

He was here…to receive orders.

Few knew his real name, Sister Leliana, several of the priests that had once served in the temple of sacred ashes, but with so many dead, few now knew the man on sight.

He made straight for the chantry. He had already sent word ahead of his arrival, Sister Leliana, his patron and mentor would be waiting for him there.

If Sister Nightingale was the Divine's left hand, then this young man was the left hand's right.

He had been one of her first agents, answerable to only her and the Divine. Where he had walked, people had followed; when he had spoken, dangerous people had listened.

To those who did not know him, he was called Reaper, one of the most dangerous of the Nightingale's agents.

To those in Kirkwall, he had had another name, one that was still honored by his friends.

To those friends he was dead; it had been better that way, it made it easier for him to do his work. It had been easier for him to disappear into the shadows, but now…times were changing.

Leliana had need of him again, but it was not Reaper that she needed, it was the boy he had been.

Bradley Reinhart of Kirkwall was needed once again.

And Sister Nightingale was about to unleash him.

He did not even pause as he made his way up the hill to the chantry. He knew well enough not to dawdle.

The Nightingale was expecting him.

He said nothing as he entered the building several sisters twittered nervously as he passed by.

He did not stop until he entered the Ambassador's office. He knocked once, and once he was admitted entered without another word.

The Nightingale and an Antivan woman he assumed was Ambassador Montilyet were talking quietly over two cups of tea.

He dropped to one knee before him, removing his helmet and bowing his head in submission.

"Reaper reporting for duty, mum," he said coolly.

Leliana smiled and rose.

She turned to her friend.

"Josie, allow me to introduce Reaper."

The Antivan gave him a respectful bow.

"A pleasure, ser," the Ambassador cooed, "Leliana had spoken quite well of you."

Bradley did not respond to that, typically it was wise not to comment on what the Nightingale said.

What she said, and what she meant could be two entirely different things.

Still, the warrior felt a surge of nervous anticipation. It was rare that she summoned him to her side, and only then when matters were most grave.

He almost smiled.

No doubt she had a mission for him.

He was more than eager to accept.

IOI

Leliana paced around him, her eyes all but hidden beneath the cowl of her robes.

She regarded the man dispassionately. She could not deny that he was one of her top agents, this he had come to her almost three years ago he had completed every task she had asked of him, and he had never faltered, not from seeking out the Qunari Arishok, to dealing with mage and Templar leaders who had threatened the Most Holy's life.

She had counted on him. Justinia had come to count on him, but now that she was gone…

The Inquisition's spymaster shook her head.

She knew that he would do what needed to be done, but still…still…

She frowned.

Still…this latest task gave her pause. Reaper…Ser Bradley had come to her service because of extreme circumstances…

Now, after so much time, he would need to confront those circumstances.

She suppressed a sigh.

She hoped he was ready for them.

"You are late," she said coolly.

He bowed his head.

"My apologies," he answered, "I would have been here sooner, but…but…

He paused.

Leliana's eyes narrowed.

"Go on," she said, "Speak your mind."

The warrior shivered. He took a deep breath and continued.

"I needed to see it for myself," he sighed, "The temple…what happened…I…I…"

Reapers eyes narrowed.

"Give me leave to hunt the monsters that did this," he growled eagerly, "I will see that justice is done."

Leliana smiled slightly.

"The loss of so many at the temple was tragic," she agreed, "So many of the faithful…so brutally taken from us…"

The Nightingale shook her head.

"The Herald of Andraste is even now investigating what happened. Once we find out who did this, we will see that those responsible are punished."

Reaper nodded.

"As you wish, Sister," he said, "Shall I be accompanying the Herald then?"

He glanced up, eagerness shining in his eyes.

"I'm sure my services will be invaluable to our Prophet's chosen."

Leliana frowned. She had to admit, she had considered that. The abilities that Ser Bradley had been granted by the holy flames of the Temple of Sacred Ashes were quite formidable.

He had never gone through the Seeker's vigil, but possessed all the abilities of one who had. He was immune to both the effects of lyrium and mind control; with the barest gesture he could make the magic in a person's blood burn. Cassandra Pentaghast had similar abilities, but not to the level that young Bradley possessed.

The right hand of the Divine did not know just how strong those powers were. Both she and Reaper were true believers, champions of the faith, but that sameness also led to infighting between the two.

Plus, Cassandra still blamed Bradley for the Guardian fleeing the temple with the Ashes of Andraste. He had been standing in the main chamber when the immortal warrior had fled, and done nothing.

In hindsight, Bradley had been right to let the man go, but still harsh feelings remained between the two warriors.

Leliana protected him from the worst of his fellow Seekers ire.

In truth, she had done her best to shield her darkest knight. It had been at her suggestion that Bradley been made a full seeker after the Battle of the Temple three years ago. Lord Seeker Lambert Van Reeves had learned of Bradley's … _creation_ during the battle with the darkspawn, and he had been intrigued.

Such powers, granted to one not fully invested in the Seeker ranks had disturbed the man.

If Lambert understood anything, it was the value of power.

He had tried to make Ser Bradley his.

As leader of the Seekers the man had summoned Bradley to his side, demanding that he swear allegiance to the Seekers, first and foremost.

Reaper had declined. He believed that his first loyalty was to the Maker, then the Divine, then the order. Nothing had happened to the young man because both Justinia and Leliana had been watching over him.

The Nightingale shook her head.

She knew from her sources within the temple that Lambert had tried to duplicate the events that had given Bradley his power. Several of the Lord Seeker's most loyal knights had visited Haven in the aftermath of Bradley's arrival in Val Royeaux.

Those knights had stepped into the flame fully armed and armored, expecting their faith to protect them as it had Bradley.

Of the three that she knew about, two were confirmed dead, and the third, badly burned, nearly driven mad by the experience.

Leliana sighed.

Wasteful.

What Bradley did, what he became, was **not** simply a matter of faith, it was sacrifice. He had been willing to die to save his friends.

Lambert had not understood that, he never had.

Even before he had ordered the Templars to rise up against the Most Holy, the man had been a threat.

 _She should have ended that threat when she had the chance._

She found herself thinking back to when Justinia had ordered that the college of magi be summoned to the white spire. Lambert had gotten too close to her mistress, and Leliana had needed to intervene, putting herself between the Lord Seeker and the Most Holy.

Her blade had rested against Lambert's throat that day, if she had only struck, ended the man for his insolence…

Perhaps much of the bloodshed of the last year may have been avoided.

"Sister?" Bradley gave her a concerned look.

The Nightingale blinked.

She had been lost in thought for a moment.

The past was gone.

She needed to see to the future…

…Whatever the cost.

She gave him a wan smile.

"I'm fine," she assured him, "I have a task for you Reaper, one that might be a bit…challenging."

Bradley did not hesitate.

"I'm ready," he promised her.

Leliana smiled at Ambassador Montilyet.

"You see Josie, completely loyal and eager to please."

"Necessary traits for a skilled agent," the Ambassador agreed.

Again, Bradley said nothing.

Only the mission mattered.

"I have been trying to contact the Grey Wardens," Sister Nightingale began, "But have met with little success, the order in both Ferelden and Orlais have vanished from their posts."

Bradley tilted his head at that news.

"Unusual," he agreed, "But the ways of the order have always been secretive."

"True," Leliana admitted, "but to have them all simply vanish…and so closely behind the death of the Divine."

Bradley frowned.

"Do you suspect that the wardens were involved?"

"I pray not," She admitted, "the order has always tried to stay out of politics. If that has changed, then the war we now find ourselves in may be more perilous then we thought."

The Nightingale shook her head.

This matter with the wardens disturbed her beyond belief. Never had the order gone so silent. She would have written her old friend Solona Amell, but even she had disappeared shortly after that business with the Exaltednist Templars years ago. Alistair had heard nothing from her, and neither had the Arishok, the man she had once known as Sten…

Leliana sighed.

She feared she was out of options.

If anything had happened to the wardens there was one final place she could look, among Reaper's former companions.

She hoped that he was ready to confront what they had to show him.

"Tell me Reaper," she said, "Have you ever heard of the Lost Garrison of the Grey Wardens?"

The young man thought about it for a moment and finally shook his head.

"They are to the Wardens what the Seekers were to the Templar Order. They investigate matters of corruption in the warden ranks."

The inquisition's spymaster shook her head.

"The Garrison has taken up residence in the old warden fortress of Soldier's Peak. I'm sending you to speak with their Commander, see if he is still there, and find out what he knows if he is."

Bradley nodded.

"As you wish, but if the order is involved in something secretive, they might not be eager to share such knowledge with an outsider. They will more than likely turn me away."

The Nightingale gave him a sad smile.

"On the contrary," she said, "The Lost Garrison will be more than intrigued by your presence…You see, once, in your former life, you aided them."

The warrior's eyes widened.

" **Was** I a **warden** when I came to the temple?"

"No," she answered, "but you had chosen to aid them in their mission, a threat had risen against the chantry and you took up their cause to protect it. You fought with them at the Battle of the Temple three years ago."

Behind them, Josephine blinked. Leliana had told her at least a few stories about that fight.

"Do these wardens know that our young knight survived that battle?" she asked.

Leliana's mouth twisted into a grim line.

"No," she confessed, "They believe that Reaper here fell during that battle, it had been several days after they left that the holy flames returned him to us."

Bradley shook his head, Leliana could see the confusion there, but was not sure how to respond just yet.

Josephine had put her hand to her mouth, no doubt shocked at what her old friend had done to this boy.

Leliana pursed her lips.

She had no excuse.

Not for Josie, and certainly not for Bradley.

Finally, he blinked and looked up at her.

"You knew this," he murmured.

"Yes," she replied.

"You knew this all this time?"

The Nightingale sighed.

"You were not ready to hear this tale, not then. Do you remember what you were like when you first emerged from the flames?"

Reaper sighed, still processing what she was telling him. At the time it had seemed like the right call. The boy was in no shape to return to his companions. The Guardian had plucked him from the flames; he had emerged with no memory of his past, as innocent as a new born babe.

She could not, at that time, simply tossed him back in the wardens' dark world.

"You could have told me," he said.

"You were a blank slate," she reminded him, "You had your abilities and your faith but little else. Had I sent word to your comrades, they might have expected you to rejoin them, you were not ready."

She put her hand on his shoulder.

"You had just lost everything that you were, they would have tried to help you no doubt, but that would have distracted them from their mission, plus, as you wrestled with who you were, and what you had become, you likely would have grown to resent them, as they tried to force you to remember a past that was simply gone."

She sighed heavily.

"I have no excuse for my actions that day," she said, "I believed them just, in fact, I still do."

She stood up straight.

"One day, I may ask your forgiveness. Perhaps you will grant it to me when that day comes.

Reaper lowered his head once more; he had no words, not after what she had just told him. She knew that he had made at least a few attempts in the last few years to learn about his past in Kirkwall.

Now she had presented him with an opportunity to hear the rest. What had come after, what he had done after he had left the Circle in Kirkwall.

She hoped that he was ready.

"So," he sighed, "These wardens will know me on sight?"

"Yes," she replied, "They maybe a little stand offish at first, but from what I observed from Commander Oslin and his men, they will be most pleased that you survived your ordeal."

Reaper sighed.

"What if they have vanished along with the other wardens?"

"Then we are back to where we started," the Nightingale frowned, "Soldier's Peak is as good a starting point as any to begin your search. Hopefully you will be able to pick up the trail, provided it has not gone cold."

The warrior nodded.

"It seems that I have two reasons to complete this mission," he said.

Leliana gave him a sad smile.

"I did what I thought was best for you," she said, "I prepared you for the day that your past would return, the day that you would have to confront the questions that have haunted you for so long.

She once again placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at her.

She smiled down on him.

"It is **time** , Bradley," she said.

"It is time to seek out **your** answers."


	5. Aveline

**Chapter 5: Aveline**

She had been lied to.

It was not an easy thing for Aveline to admit. She prided herself on getting to know the people around her, to gauge their reactions and what she could expect from them at any given moment. It is what made her such a good guard captain in Kirkwall, it is what allowed her to keep her head above water when serving as Viscountess after Hawke's leaving and Knight-Commander Meredith's demise.

Yes, she had thought she knew how to read people, and yet, sometimes, she found herself surprised.

Bethany Hawke, no Bethany Oslin, she reminded herself, had surprised her.

The former Viscountess frowned.

She was not happy about that.

When she had received word from Hawke that Bethany was on her way back to the Free Marches, she had hurried to protect her old friend's sister. She and Donnic had just about to send people to collect her when the Templar revolt occurred. The whole thing had caught her off guard truth be told. There had been no problems with the Gallows in months. Knight-Commander Cullen had made sure everything was stable before he left with Seeker Pentaghast.

She shook her head.

When the Templars finally struck it was with a fury that shocked even her. The knights massacred their officers, the ones not a part of their little rebellion, then they swept into Hightown like a plague. They fought like rabid animals; their eyes blazing crimson, Aveline's guard had been caught completely off balance. Never had anyone seen Templars attack with such fury.

She and Donnic had made it out of the city…barely. Carrying their two year old son in her arms she had fled the place that had been her home for almost ten years. They had been forced to flee for their lives, driven out by the same men turned monsters that that fool Meredith had tried to unleash three years earlier.

Aveline sighed.

She had received word through her contacts that the Templar had named Seneschal Bran the new Viscount. He was just a puppet, no one doubted that, but the fact that the Templars had not installed one of their own as ruler was at least one positive sign.

Sadly, it was the only one.

She knew the nobles of Kirkwall; none would lift a finger to help their city if it meant jeopardizing their holdings. As for the Templars themselves, they had played their role well. When Cassandra Pentaghast entered the city they had been poster children for Chantry control. The Templars of the Gallows had chosen to remain in their fortress despite the Lord Seeker's call to form into a massive host to oppose the mages.

They had been wise, patient, they waited until Seeker Pentaghast was gone, and what was worse she had had no warning about the attack. The Seeker had taken Varric with her when she left. Aveline hated to admit it, but she was blind without the dwarven outlaws many contacts. Yes, she had many of her own, but her contacts could not get into the places that Varric's did. Now…it was all gone.

She sighed again.

She had lost her city.

Fortunately, they had not been completely destitute. A year and a half earlier she had helped Sebastian Vale reclaim his throne from his Cousin Goran. Hawke and Fenris had helped with that. Varric had did his best to keep the Champion's name out of it, but the result was that Sebastian now found himself wearing the title of Prince of Starkhaven.

The fact that she had helped, both on her own, and through Hawke meant that Sebastian remained an ally.

He had been happy to take her and Donnic in, and was even happier when he heard that Bethany was coming with them. Sebastian had always carried a bit of a torch for Hawke's little sister.

He had gotten a bit of a surprise when he saw her child, and found out that she was married.

The former Viscountess shook her head.

Sebastian really should not have been surprised.

He had cared for Bethany, that much was clear, but at the same time, he had not been willing to abandon his vows to be with her. After Grand Cleric Elthina died, he had chosen to remain in Kirkwall, carrying out the Maker's work.

He could have gone with her. The Right of Annulment meant that she was no longer welcome in any mage circle. Any Templar of the order would have been honor bound to kill her, to make sure the annulment of the Kirkwall circle was complete. Hawke had made sure that Bethany had more than enough resources to live happily and secure. It was only by the Grey Wardens' intervention that Knight-Captain Delance had found her home in Ferelden. Had Sebastian gone with her, he could have protected her. He could have started a life with her…

Instead, she had ended up in the arms of a pirate turned Grey Warden. Not the kind of man that Aveline would have trusted, but according to Bethany, Justin and she had walked through fire together.

After such trials, it was not surprising that the two had fallen in love.

When Bethany first suggested heading to Estwatch, she had been against it. According to the mage, Justin had left her something on the island, something that was hidden where only he and those close to him could find it. The mage had been insistent that she go. Sebastian had guaranteed the safety of her child. The boy would be protected at all cost.

Aveline had frowned when she heard the news. When Hawke had written her about Bethany's plight, she had insisted that the former Viscountess keep her safe. Bethany was the last of Hawke's family. Marian wished her kept safe.

The former Viscountess had known that the only way she could guarantee that was to go herself. She took care of her friends, and if Bethany insisted on doing this, then Aveline would see it done.

Donnic understood, he did not like it, but he understood. He would remain behind and watch their son. Wesley needed at least one of his parents to be there for him. He could also keep an eye on Bethany's child. It was not that Aveline did not trust Sebastian, but she was smart enough to be leery of his nobles. They had stood by and done nothing when his family had been murdered…

Who could say if they would not do so again?

So they had come to Estwatch, just the two of them. Bethany had sought out her husband's old shipmate Little Nan. The elf was supposed to know where Justin's mysterious cache was, but as Aveline listened to Bethany speak with the pirate it was clear that their journey here had nothing to do with finding something Bethany's husband had left behind…

No, it was clear that Justin Oslin had hid nothing here.

Bethany Hawke had lied to her.

The very thought made Aveline's blood boil.

The youngest Hawke had always been so honest, so guileless, apparently that had changed. Probably the result of being married to that no account husband of hers, or that ruby eyed elven trickster she called her best friend.

The former Viscountess shook her head.

She still could not believe that Bethany had played her.

Now she was stuck.

If she left now, it would mean abandoning Bethany to the scum here in Estwatch. She could not do that. She still took care of her friends. Even if Hawke had not asked her, she could not simply abandon the mage.

The only question was now, how far was Bethany willing to go?

Aveline would follow her of course, but that did not change the fact.

The world was a dangerous place, and growing more so by the minute.

She seriously doubted that Bethany understood what it was she was getting herself into.

She would follow. She owed Hawke that much. She owed Bethany that much.

Now all she had to do was hope that they didn't do something stupid and get themselves killed.

This was a bad idea, she thought, but no sooner had she thought it another occurred to her.

Aveline pursed her lips.

I take care of my friends.

IOI

"We need passage into Orlais."

Bethany's request widened the eyes of the whole table; even the drunkard mage seemed shocked by it.

Little Nan snorted and took a hard pull from her tankard.

"Orlais is a warzone," she snorted.

"You realize that, yes?"

The mage nodded.

"Justin was summoned to Orlais," she reminded them, "He took the whole garrison with him, and a few days later our home was attacked."

Bethany shook her head.

"I don't believe in coincidence. Our home was secure, few people outside the wardens knew how to enter Soldier's Peak undetected, yet a force of attackers did so."

Aveline's eyes narrowed.

"I don't suppose you got a look at those that did this?" she inquired.

"They were hooded and cloaked, but they were also well armed and well trained. The guards that the Dryden family used to protect their goods were no match for them. They had at least two mages with them as well…"

Bethany shuddered at the memory.

"This was not just some random attack by bandits," she said coldly, "Whoever did this wanted to deny the Lost Garrison any support. They killed any they came across and they did not take anything."

The mage shook her head.

"They wanted to wipe us out. If someone was willing to go that far, then who is to say that the wardens themselves were not ambushed? What if the summons from Orlais was a trap? What if someone wanted to get Justin and the others isolated so that they could destroy them?"

Aveline's eyes narrowed. She had heard this story before, on their journey to Estwatch, and still it made no sense. The Lost Garrison kept the Grey Wardens honest.

Why would someone want to destroy that?

More importantly, how had the attackers found their way into the Lost Garrison's home? They probably could have tortured the answers out of one of the traders that shared the fortress with them, but once again that led them back to the question why?

Who profited from such an attack, and who had the skill to carry it out? Wardens were among the finest warriors in Thedas.

The Templars could have done it, but why risk making enemies of the Grey Wardens? Besides that…who else might have done it…?

It is not like the wardens would attack their own people?

Bethany pinned Little Nan with a hard gaze.

"My husband is still alive," she said, "I know it. I feel it in my soul, but if he is in danger, he needs my help."

She stood up straighter, trying to make herself look more commanding.

"I need someone to smuggle me into Orlais."

Aveline's eyes widened.

"Bethany," she said, "Hawke said…"

"I know what my sister said," she sighed, "Stay away from Orlais, too many Templars, too much chaos."

She sighed.

"If Fenris was the one in danger, Mari would not hesitate, how can I do the same? If it was Donnic, would you be able to stay behind Aveline."

She gave her friend a pained look.

"Would you even be able to try?"

The former Viscountess suppressed a snarl, it was a low blow, but the mage was absolutely right.

She would walk gladly into fire if it meant saving Donnic. She loved him; he was the father of her child.

How could she deny Bethany that?

Little Nan sighed.

"It won't be easy," she said, "And if the Captain is dead…"

"He is not," Bethany insisted.

"If he is," Nan continued, "Then you are risking your life for a lost cause."

Next to them Wren snorted, peering once again into his drink.

"The Captain would not die so easily," he said.

Then…he smiled.

"Besides, if he were dead, then I would be denied my chance to…settle up with him."

The mage smiled like a hungry predator.

"That would be a shame indeed."

Bethany glared at him. Nan's ears twitched as she considered what Bethany was asking. Aveline would insist that the elf say no, and then she and the mage could return to their children in Starkhaven.

A child needed its mother, she believed that. She had grown up without one and had always felt that something was missing inside her.

She would not do that to Wesley, and it was unfair of Bethany to do it to her own child.

She was about to say as much when the elf replied.

"Getting a ship won't be easy," Nan murmured.

"I have coin," Bethany said.

Again Nan snorted.

"It isn't a matter of coin," she said, "The Felicisma Armada is gobbling up every ship that can fight right now. The Admirals are unhappy that the Inquisition has not come to them yet asking for their help at holding the waves."

Nan sneered.

"Any of them would consider your mission…a fool's errand."

Bethany's brown eyes narrowed, she frowned deeply glaring at the elf.

"Justin said you would help me."

"I am," the elf replied, "I'm trying to keep you alive."

"I'm willing to take the risk."

Aveline glared at her.

"Would you leave your son an orphan, Bethany?"

The mage glared at her.

"That is not fair Aveline!"

"No, it isn't," the former Viscountess said.

"But that does not mean it isn't true."

The mage fell silent, thinking about what was said. On some level she might even have agreed with Nan and Aveline."

The mage shook her head.

"Our son deserves to grow up knowing his father."

Little Nan sat back; she worried her lower lip with her teeth.

Aveline was no mind reader, but she could guess what was going on inside the pirate's head.

She was no doubt weighing her loyalty to Justin versus a desire to help her old shipmate's wife.

Aveline did not envy her, but at the same time…

Nan sighed.

"There is one Admiral who may help you," she sighed, "Technically she is a member of the Armada, but she also has close ties with the Fereldan nobility, or so rumor says."

Nan sighed.

"She…might help you."

Aveline's eyes narrowed. She felt a twinge in her stomach, an unpleasant feeling, like someone walking over her grave.

"Does this…Admiral have a name?"

Nan smiled.

She looked right at Bethany.

"If you really are related to the Champion," she cooed, "Then you already know her name. She used to travel with your sister, or so I've heard."

Aveline almost groaned.

Wren glared fiercely at the elf.

" **NOT HER!"** he spat.

Nan smirked.

" **ANYONE BUT HER!"**

Aveline shook her head.

Of all the people in Thedas…

…She…she should not have been surprised.

She could already feel a headache trying to start, and knew, if they did this, what words would be passing her lips soon enough…

 _Shut up, whore!_

The former Viscountess sighed.

The drunkard mage was right about one thing, she thought.

 _Why her?_

 _Anyone but her?_


	6. In the End

**Chapter 6: In the End**

 _So… this is what dying felt like?_

The wounded elf lay in a snowbank at the bottom of a ravine. The sounds of battle along the mountain path above had stopped hours ago, or was it merely minutes, she could not remember, but that meant little to her in the long run. Considering how far she had fallen, how long she had lain here in the blowing snow…it was a safe bet to say that none of her allies were going to come for her…

And if no one came for her…well…she knew what that meant.

She was already half frozen, too weak to even move from the blood loss and the cold.

It would not be long now.

A few moments more…and she would be gone.

Strangely, that realization did not bother her. Did she want to die? No. She just didn't see any way to avoid it, and even if she did, her injuries made any such attempts impossible.

The realization of all that should have frightened her, yet she felt nothing, the cold and loss of blood had taken all that fear away.

Everything was going away, slowly, but surely, soon…even she would be gone.

What a sad development that was, or would have been had she been able to gather up enough strength to care?

She could not even gather the strength to whimper. The cold mountain wind wailed around her, blowing snow spun over the landscape, wisps of snow danced over her corpse…

The warden could not move. How long had she lain here in this crevice? How long since the attack?

She no longer could say, a while at least. The cold had gotten into her bones, she no longer even had the strength to shiver, a tiny blood pool collected at the site of her wound, congealing from the cold, the arrow that had pierced her side had broken off in the fall, leaving only a shaft, a shaft that now stuck out her back, had her comrades found her they might have been able to help, but they had not, it was likely they were not even in the same world anymore.

Perhaps they were already dead; perhaps their "Allies" had killed them all. If they had done that…

…Well…it really did not matter anymore.

The elf stared blankly at the white landscape before her, black trees their tops coated in white, hard sharp rocks poked through the drifts like thick iron blades.

How she had missed impaling herself during her fall, she could not say. The trees had slowed her fall certainly, that and her skills. Even wounded she retained some of the abilities that had made her so valuable in Val Royeaux…

Once an acrobat, always an acrobat, she thought.

She might have laughed if her strength had not failed her eons ago.

When she had first landed, everything had hurt; she had slid down into this crevice, the arrow having knocked her off the mountain path above. For a time the sound of battle had continued, as he friends battled the ones who had attacked them, the ones who had betrayed them.

At the time…she had been furious.

Justin had done his best to rally them. They had struck Leonie first, a warden mage tried to melt her silverite joints. Faizyl and Merrill had tried to help, but then they had fallen under attack from their own rear guard. Their young recruits offered up only a token defense, so surprised or confused by the suddenness of the attack.

They likely could not believe it was happening, certainly the dying warden could not have foreseen such an outcome?

She tried to blink, but found the activity of it far too exhausting, snow was gathering on her eyelashes, even as it continued to seep into her like poisoned water.

Not long now, she thought.

Not long now.

But in these last few moments her thoughts returned to the ambush. Warden Commander Clarel had asked for their help. She had even had permission from the First Warden to use the Lost Garrison to aid in the hunt for a traitor to the order. One who had been helping rearm their old enemies, the Exaltednist Templars…

…yet they found nothing perhaps that was the point.

Perhaps, there was nothing to find.

Perhaps that had been all a lie. Perhaps the Exaltednist movement had died with their prophet Gaston Delance, and if it had…

Everything that had come after…had been a lie.

But why, she thought…

Why?

Why would wardens attack other wardens? The Lost Garrison had begun this journey on behalf of Warden Commander Clarel.

Why would Clarel order their deaths?

Why had the rest of the order betrayed them?

And why did it still matter? She was dying after all…

Death was the only thing she had to care about now.

There had been a time when those questions of betrayal and who was behind it all had still mattered, but now that was gone. The elf no longer cared why they had been betrayed. All of her cares had faded away, along with the pain, and soon…her life would follow.

She felt numb, numb all over, and it had nothing to do with the fact she was lying half buried in a snowbank.

How would it happen, she wondered, how would death claim her. Would she die from her wound? Possibly. The arrow had not hit anything vital; at least she did not think it did, but the blood loss would likely finish the job. The fall? That was a possibility too. She had struck her head on the way down, perhaps her skull was broken, perhaps that was why she could barely move…

The cold? That **might** just take her. Though it was likely the cold that was keeping her alive, it had slowed her blood enough that she had not bled out from her wounds…

A single elven ear twitched.

All things considered, freezing to death might have been the better way to go.

Cold, it would not have been such a bad way to go. After all, she could think of worse ends. She hoped that some animal did not find her before she passed. She had no strength, and if something came to feed she would not be able to stop it.

The thought of being eaten alive still brought a moment of terror to her. To only be able to lay here as she was slowly torn apart.

It was enough to make a person shiver; sadly, she no longer had the strength for that.

A weak shuddering breath escaped her lips.

She wished that she had had the strength to look up into the gray sky; she had always liked the sky. That calm sea of blue on a bright summer day, clouds like gentle white caps across its bright surface.

Above her, green lights flashed, the elf might have shuddered.

She had been staring at the sky when the attack began, the thick gray clouds, and through them ripples of glowing green.

You could not go anywhere in the Frostbacks right now and not see the breach. The tear in the fade was so large; it could be seen for miles.

Yet, the wardens could do nothing. It was not there mandate, and now she was going to die here in some ravine. She was going to die here for nothing.

Had she had the strength to shake her head, she would have.

It was so unfair!

Alas, she no longer had the strength to feel outrage.

It was over.

She was done.

She continued to drift in and out. Memories and faces swam before her eyes. Her parents, the Alienage, these were her first real memories. She remembered singing on the corner outside the alienage. He beautiful voice just enough to garner the attention of the more well to do. They had tossed her coins, coins that had gone a long way toward feeding her family.

That had been good, but it had not been enough. Still her voice had caught the attention of her Master Benoit and his lover the bard Giselle.

It was they. They that plucked her out of the Alienage gave her a new life, a life of story and song, adventure and excitement.

The elf had loved that life. She welcomed the intrigue and the danger. When Giselle had been killed by a jealous rival, she had taken up the reigns of Master Benoit's top agent. She had conducted many successful missions in the Empire, and had finally started branching out, dealing with enemies in the nations that surrounded the empire.

That is what brought her to Starkhaven.

That is what led to her being tossed in the dungeons.

The memory of that place was not a pleasant one. She had been sentenced to hang. She had given up her raven hair to a wig maker just to make sure her body received the proper burning. The undertaker had taken her money, whether he would have done as she asked, she never got the chance to find out.

The day she was to die, Stroud of the Grey Wardens had come to her cell, offering to save her life if she agreed to join their order.

She had accepted, never knowing what joining the wardens truly meant. She had planned to take their secrets and flee back to her old life…

That had not happened.

The joining had made sure of that.

The joining had bound her to the darkspawn; their taint now swam in her veins. She would forever be pulled towards the darkness, towards them…

In her weaker moments, she wondered if it would have been better had she died in Starkhaven.

The hangman's rope certainly would have been a cleaner end.

Yet, it hadn't been all bad. The wardens had become her surrogate family. Justin, Bethany, even Merrill had made her realize that she was not alone in this world. They had stood by her.

They had protected her.

They had given her the strength to find her own path, to claim what she wanted.

She gasped; it was getting harder and harder to breathe!

Her eyes were getting heavier and heavier. Soon she would be asleep.

She would sleep and never wake up.

Images flashed before her eyes. Friends and foes both came to her, whether they be living or dead did not seem to matter, they were here, haunting her in her final moments.

Giselle scowled at her, sad that her life was ending this way.

Cole, a warden who had died almost three years ago, sat at her side, telling her not to be afraid.

It would all be over soon.

But that was not the worst of it, no.

The worst was…was…

Was…

She shivered, perhaps her last act in this broken living world of theirs.

She found herself thinking of her love, knight in shining armor, her sweet, dear Templar.

She groaned softly into the snow.

The pain remained twisting in her gut.

Bradley, she thought.

Her dear, sweet, handsome Bradley.

She found herself wondering if they would meet again on the other side. If so, perhaps it would be enough…

Perhaps…she would finally be able to apologize for what had happened in Haven almost three years ago.

They had quarreled, her Bradley and she. That night he had slept out in the cold. In the morning they had managed to fight their way to the temple of Sacred Ashes.

It was there that Bradley had been taken from her. He had been consumed by magic flames, his arm and body turned to ash.

Again, a single elven ear twitched.

It would be good to see Bradley again, even if it was in the next world.

It was in that moment that strength returned to her, nothing great, but enough to speak one last time.

The elf shivered.

"Braaaad-leeeee," she murmured, "Aidez moi!"

Of course no one came, not that she was expecting anyone too.

Bradley was long dead, and her fellows had abandoned her.

And it was so quiet, so very, very quiet.

She was slipping away, the light faded from her eyes.

She let the darkness carry her away; she was tired of all the fighting and dying; now she wanted to rest.

She only barely acknowledged the boot steps as they approached her. She certainly did not acknowledge when the hooded figure stood up next to her.

Strong hands turned her over, inspecting her wounds.

"Warden," a strong voice called out.

"Can you hear me?"

The elf did not respond. It did not matter now.

She was done.

She felt a brief flash of pain as the arrow was pulled from her back. She might have groaned; some sound escaped her lips.

Perhaps it was merely a death rattle.

The hooded man sighed.

It seemed he had not given up hope.

 _The elf did_ _ **not**_ _get her hopes up._

"Warden," his voice whispered to her across a great impenetrable gulf.

She heard it, barely.

I'm going to try something, the voice promised, "It will hurt a lot, but it might just save you."

The warden did not answer.

Her strength was gone, and now, so was she.

She closed her eyes, as the hooded man lain his hands on her body. She heard him murmuring in a tongue she did not understand, it didn't matter but…

Her body burst into flames!

The fire did not consume her, quite the opposite in fact.

It drew her back, the gulf between herself and the world of the living vanished.

Life poured into her, like scalding rushing water.

Her eyes flew open; the fires burned away her injuries, healing them in a matter of moments.

But it hurt, oh sweet Maker…

It hurt.

It was in that moment that she first got a look at her would be rescuer. The flames that now covered her body illuminated the face beneath the hood.

Her breath caught in her throat!

No!

It could not be…

But it was, she realized.

It was.

She gasped.

Bradley, she thought.

The man who was holding her looked exactly like her Bradley, but that made no sense.

 _Her Bradley was long dead._

Her heart hammered in her ears. She gasped as life burned through her. Fire flowed out of his hands, as the man kept her pinned against the ground.

His face was covered in sweat.

She wanted to ask him what he had done. How she had come back, but then…the pain became too much.

She felt herself slipping away, not into the darkness of death, but somewhere much closer.

Exhaustion claimed her, just as the flames had.

Yet, the flames retreated, and she found herself whole again, whole, but her body still blazing with pain.

Finally, she could no longer take it.

She let herself go.

She let herself fall.

The man who looked like Bradley gave her a tired smile.

"You will live," he murmured.

"Praise the Maker."

She did not know about that.

The pain was still so intense.

She drifted away from it, falling into a deep, deep, sleep.

She would awaken in time, but that was not today.

Today, she would fall, and fall she did.

Darkness claimed her.

Serene of the Grey Wardens fell, but one thing was for certain.

Bradley had found her again…

And their two worlds…

…would never be the same again.

Praise Andraste.


	7. Light and Warmth

**Chapter 7: Light and Warmth**

He had gotten lost.

It was not surprising of course. The snowstorm had seemed to come out of nowhere, blowing snow and wind making it almost impossible to see.

Bradley lost the mountain path, and ended up down in some valley nestled between the peaks. Sleet stung his face as he staggered through the blinding landscape, trying to remain close to the mountain side.

He had gone down into what he assumed to be a valley, but that did not mean that he was still not in danger.

The blowing snow could have hidden some small chasm, one wrong step and he might fall into it, breaking his neck.

And that would be the end of the man known as Reaper.

He gritted his teeth and pushed on. Since leaving Soldier's Peak he had been trying to catch up with the wardens. The weather would likely slow them down as well. He hoped to overtake them before they made it through the old path and into Orlais.

The storm had stopped his advance, he came to realize that he needed to find shelter; at least until the storm had passed enough that he could see where he was going.

He would not do the Inquisition or the Nightingale any good if he froze to death on this mountain.

He continued to hug the mountainside, hoping to find some cover against the weather. Finally, he caught a lucky break. He found a large cleft in the rock, a cleft that turned out to be a good sized cave.

Bradley drew his sword, and drew a small glow crystal from his pack, exposing it to the air made the stone glow with orange light.

He smiled at the object, one of the many wondrous devices crafted by the circle of magi, and a boon when a man could not get a fire going.

He gave the little device a sad look.

With the circles disbanded, such items were quickly becoming a luxury, as were many of the healing salves and enchanted devices that had aided the chantry so well in the past.

The Seeker shook his head.

Another reason for them to restore the Circle, a world without such items would quickly become a very harsh place. The Templars had never stopped to consider what would be lost when they drove the circles to rebel.

Bradley sighed heavily as he removed his pack.

What was done was done, he supposed.

It was too late to cry about it now.

The wind continued to wail like an abandoned child as the young warrior began to set up his small camp.

When the storm passed, he would do what he could to find his way back up to the mountain path taken by the Grey Wardens.

Perhaps then…he would be able to get some answers.

Perhaps then…he would be able to find out what was going on with the order.

IOI

He had left Haven fully outfitted for a long journey.

Sister Leliana had given him everything he had needed to find his way to Soldier's Peak, including a map to get him through the winding paths that protected the old warden fortress.

He arrived to find the place sacked. Bodies were everywhere, some half buried in the snow.

He had called out, hoping to locate any survivors to find out what happened.

Given the degree of destruction around him, however…

…he had not been holding his breath.

The bodies he found were not wardens; they carried no arms and wore no armor. The Nightingale had told him this place had been serving a center of trade for the Dryden merchant family.

Bradley shook his head.

It seemed that the Drydens were now out of business.

He had just been about to leave when a single survivor emerged from the keep. He was quite old, a bald, frail looking man in blue and silver robes.

Bradley had raised his weapons, his Templar senses all but screaming that this man was a mage…

…and a powerful one at that.

The old man leaned heavily on his staff as he shook his head at the carnage around him, mumbling under his breath.

It was then that he finally noticed the Seeker standing there.

The old man smiled.

"You might as well come in out of the cold," the man advised, "There is nothing more that you can do for the people here."

The old mage tottered up the steps, Bradley, still wary of him, followed at a safe distance.

If the old man took offense he did nothing to show it.

He simply stared at Seeker with red rimmed wizened eyes.

"I am called Avernus," he said, "Researcher, and Grey Warden."

He smiled at Bradley's reaction to that.

"I am called Reaper," he said, "Seeker of the Chantry."

The mage smirked at his titles.

"To what purpose do we owe the honor of this visit Seeker?" he asked.

"As you can see, the Lost Garrison is not really available to aid you right now."

"I'm here on behalf of the Inquisition,' Reaper informed him.

Avernus chuckled.

"So the Inquisition is **back** is it? How interesting."

Bradley pursed his lips; he did not really like what he was sensing from this old man.

Here was someone who was definitely more than what met the eye.

"Is your Commander among the dead? I would speak with him if he is not."

Avernus shook his head.

"Commander Oslin was not here when the attack began," Avernus said, "Had he been, things might have gone quite different. He took the men and marched off."

The old man sighed.

"I have no idea when he will return, or if…."

Bradley felt a pang of frustration.

It seemed that he would have to return to the Nightingale empty handed. He did not like that; he had never failed her before.

Of course, there was more than one way to succeed wasn't there?

He looked at the old mage.

"I don't suppose you could tell me where the wardens went?"

Avernus paused; he tilted his head slightly, as if deep in thought.

"Perhaps," he said, "But I should not betray my comrades' trust, how do I know that you did not put the wardens that attacked us to this."

That made Bradley's eyes widen.

Wardens had done this?!

"Your own people attacked you?"

"I suppose so," the mage answered.

"Why?"

Again Avernus chuckled.

"That is the only real question isn't it? Perhaps together we can find out an answer. It is the least I can do for the poor souls here."

The mage regarded him with his cool eyes.

He smiled slightly.

"You are not like other Templars I have encountered," he said, "There is…something different about you. I can sense it"

Bradley shuddered.

Something in the old man's gaze made him feel…uncomfortable.

"I am…unique," Bradley admitted.

"Indeed," Avernus said, "Perhaps we can reach an arrangement after all. What you need to know for something that I can use."

"Perhaps," Reaper said, "It depends at what you seek."

The old mage nodded.

"Perhaps," he murmured.

"Perhaps."

IOI

Avernus had been true to his word. He had given Bradley the route the wardens were planning on taking through the Frostback Mountains.

It was an old path, the mage had said, a path the wardens used when they did not wish to be observed crossing the border.

The mage had given him the location for a relatively cheap price, a single vial of the Seeker's blood. The old mage claimed to be researching new ways to aid his order against the Blight.

The Seeker saw little problem with his request. The wardens and the Chantry had never been enemies…

…If the old man's work could aid in defending the world against the Blight.

Why not?

The map that Avernus had provided him with was detailed quite well. Bradley had figured if he pushed his horse a little harder, he might just catch up to the wardens before they left Ferelden.

That had not happened.

His horse had been lost in the storm, along with his way, and most of his supplies.

What he had managed to salvage now sat before him in the tiny cave.

He made sure to explore the cave completely before making himself comfortable. He knew from experience that such places were seldom unoccupied. He found tracks suggesting that a bear had hibernated here once, but the markings were old, a year old at least. The cave also showed no sign of darkspawn, during one of his earlier missions; close to Qunari territory he had encountered a nest of the fiends.

He had learned to identify signs of their passing; no such signs were present here.

He took that as a good sign.

It seemed he had found as good a place as any to wait out the storm.

He had leaned back wrapped in his heavy fur cloak. The warm glow of the crystal on the ground before him quickly lulled him to sleep.

And as always…he dreamed.

He dreamed of flames, and of their cleansing embrace.

It was in that moment that he heard the voice of the guardian, his friend and mentor.

 _It is time, lad._

He shifted in his sleep.

 _It is time to face your past, and through that, your future._

Bradley awoke, the flames still filling his thoughts. He was not quite sleep walking but nor was he entirely awake.

There was a small break in the storm, and he went out into it, not really understanding why. All he knew was that he needed to be out there.

He made his way through the blowing snow and icy rocks. His eyes searching for something he did not entirely understand.

Yet, he needed to be out here, he knew that much.

The only question was why.

Bradley mustered his courage,

He would know what it was, when he saw it.

He made his way through the snow, guided by a beacon he could not understand…

…and there, half buried in the snow…he found it, or rather her.

Bradley leaned down, the blue and silver gambeson, the white griffon on the small breast plate identified the elf as a warden.

He frowned.

A warden that was dying, that would be dead in moments if he did not act.

He had not hesitated.

He knew what needed to be done, and so he did it.

The girl would live, thank the Maker.

Now…he would have his answers.

IOI

The storm was just starting to pick up again when he made his way back to the cave. The warm light of the glow crystal called to him, summoning back home.

He had only just managed to enter the cave when the storm began in earnest. Once again the world became a wall of blinding white.

He thanked the Maker for having escaped it.

He lay the warden down next to glow crystals, the orange light illuminating her pale features.

Bradley blinked at the sight.

The girl was an elf that much was clear. Same slender form, large almond shaped eyes, two pointed tapered ears poking through shoulder length black curly hair.

Her face made the Seeker pause.

Something…there was something about the girl's face…

Something…familiar?

He blinked and shook his head.

For a moment, he felt as if something had stirred within him, but as quick as it had come it was gone.

He felt a brief surge of frustration.

Would he never learn who he was?

Would the Maker never let him remember?

He tried to stand, but suddenly felt very woozy.

He sat back down, and shook his head.

The disorientation was not surprising.

He had called on the flames to save the warden's life.

Doing that, using that power…it always left him drained.

Only time and rest would restore his strength that was simply the way it was.

He took a deep breath, and tried to focus on regaining his strength.

It helped…sometimes.

Not ever Sister Leliana knew that he could call on the flames. It was a secret he kept from all. Had he not, it would have been just another motivator for the foolish to try and attempt and recreate the circumstances of his survival in the temple of sacred ashes.

He would not allow that.

There were too many foolish attempts at that as it was.

The flames could do much, he knew, he had seen it, he had called on that power himself.

This was only the third time he had used it. The first time had been on a fellow seeker, a friend; he had sacrificed himself against a powerful abomination. The second had been a Qunari elf, an assassin.

He smiled slightly.

Tallis had loved the sound of her own voice; it was funny that he had left her speechless. That an act of healing had showed her that there was more in the world than her precious Qun.

Now… he had used it to save this girl, this warden.

He sighed.

For the sake of his mission, he had had no choice.

The lay on the floor of the cave, shivering. He checked her for injury, the flames had healed her, but they had done nothing for her armor.

The snow had soaked it clean through.

Bradley's eyes narrowed, a rosy glow came to his cheeks.

There was only one thing he could do. The elf might sicken in her weakened state, or she might still freeze to death before the storm ended.

The Seeker swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat.

He needed to get her out of her wet armor.

He needed to get her warm and dry.

He took a shuddering breath.

Here goes nothing, he thought.

He worked quickly, first he removed the girl's weapons, and then he took off the light plates and gambeson.

He tried not to stare too much as more and more pale flesh was revealed.

He swallowed hard, and tried to look away, but at the same time carry out what he was trying to do.

He shook his head.

Oh Maker.

Seekers and Templars both were taught to behave like gentlemen, but still…undressing this warden, this very beautiful elven girl.

He blinked.

One would have to be blind to not be at least…a little aroused.

He sighed.

The girl had a nice body, more shapely than most elven women, full breasts, and strong hips. A brief inspection of her smalls showed that they were still mostly dry.

He coughed.

At least he would not have to strip her completely…completely…

Well…that way.

He picked up his heavy fur cloak, he had left it behind when he had gone back out into the storm, and laid it flat next to his…guest.

The elf murmured in her sleep, he thanked the Maker she had not woken while he had been…undressing her.

That might have been a bit…awkward.

He scooped her up into his arms; her breath was warm against his neck, her skin smooth to the touch of his callused fingers.

He lay her down on the cloak, quickly wrapping her within a cocoon of thick black fur.

The girl murmured softly, and pulled the fur tighter around her, snuggling within it, getting comfortable.

Bradley let out a breath he had not really realized he had been holding. A nervous giggle escaped his lips.

In the Nightingales name he had faced both demons and Maleficarum with barely blinking an eye, but this…this girl.

She had made him very, very uncomfortable.

He smiled slightly.

He might have been wrong, but he had thought he had seen a tattoo on her upper right thigh, what kind of mark might that be he wondered, he…

He shook his head, feeling like a drooling lecher…

…So much for behaving like a gentleman.

He was…attracted to elven women, he knew that from his travels, and given their natural grace and beauty it was easy for a human man to objectify one.

It would be most unwise to objectify this girl.

He gave her a sad look.

"This woman was no yielding maiden, no gentle flower. The weapons she carried were not simply for show. This was a woman who fought and killed darkspawn.

Only a fool would ignore that fact.

He sighed, and looked down at his hands.

He could still almost feel the warmth there, the glow of the flames that had cleansed him, made him strong.

He sighed.

After all this time, he still craved the flames embrace. Perhaps that was why that a small flicker of it remained with him, perhaps that was why it would still come when he called, he…

Bradley's eyes widened.

A horrible thought occurred to him.

What if the flames did to the girl what they did to him?

What if they took away all she knew about her fellows?

What if, in saving her life, he destroyed the very information that his Lady needed?

If that was so, he would feel extremely stupid, but at the same time…

…The same time.

He would do it all over again.

He had been given the power to save lives, not just take them.

He would be damned if he could not use it.

He pulled out another glow crystal and a third.

The cave was quickly bathed in orange light. Even as the sun dipped below the mountains, filling the valley with shadows and blowing snow.

The warmth seeped into his bones.

The Seeker yawned and stretched.

He looked down at the sleeping warden.

He knew from experience that the girl would likely sleep for two days, maybe three. In truth he did not know.

He had never brought back someone that close to death before.

Even if the storm broke tomorrow he would not be able to leave the girl here. If she had the information he needed, he needed to get her back to Haven, back to the Inquisition and the Nightingale.

He yawned again, spent from using his powers.

He had to get her back, but not yet…not yet.

He took off his chest plate leaving only a sweat stained shirt behind.

The elf shivered as an icy wind blew through the cave.

He lay down next to her, wrapping her in his arms.

She murmured but did not awaken.

She nuzzled against his chest, seeking the warmth of his body.

He smiled.

Speaking of warm, he was surprised how warm the little elf was, not feverish, just warm to the touch.

Don't get any ideas, his conscience chided.

He smiled slightly.

He wasn't, but still…he had to admit.

She was certainly a cute little bunny.

The warmth and exhaustion were finally too much.

The Seeker fell asleep.

Had he not he might have heard the elven girl speak, it likely would have made him realize that more was going on here than simply his mission.

"Bra-lee," she purred as she slipped into a deeper sleep.

Outside the storm raged, but for a moment, in a shadowed cave in the Frostbacks…

…There was peace.


End file.
